


(You're My) Security Blanket

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Bad Dreams, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Protective Ashton, Protective Calum, Protective Luke, general cuteness, poor baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael develops a nightmare condition while on tour. The band does what they can to ease their troubled guitarist's mind. Cuddles galore. OT4 af.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so there's no actual timeline to this. just know that they're on tour with 1D somewhere in the world lol.

The first time it happens, Michael shrugs it off as a result of the unfortunate combination of getting mobbed earlier in the day- something that still scares him to his very core even after all this time- and a minor case of tour-induced sleep deprivation. 

He lies in his bunk for a few minutes, breath struggling to even out as the remaining traces of the nightmare lingers in the corners of his mind. Michael fails to remember what even really happened in the dream, and yet the startling image of a bloodied Luke Hemmings keeps coming into his stream of consciousness. He tries not to dwell on the image, and simply hops down from his bunk, tiptoeing towards the claustrophobic bathroom, wary of his slumbering bandmates. 

The light that floods the room upon him sliding the door open is aggressively bright, and he blinks rapidly for a few moments, trying to will the stars out of his vision. Once his eyes adjust, he inspects the disheveled face staring back at him through the mirror. The purple bags under his eyes are a stark contrast to his nearly corpse-like pale skin. It’s clear that whatever dream that had plagued his sleep was quite the nightmare- literally. There’s tear tracks beginning to dry on his cheeks, though he’d deny their existence if anyone was there to see. 

He turns on the faucet and waits for the water to chill before splashing his face a few times. The uneasy feeling that sits at the bottom of his stomach is still very present, so Michael quickly gives up on the notion of falling back asleep. He towels his face dry and runs a shaking hand through his red, frenzied hair. Clearing his throat with a loud cough, he slides open the door, mentally cursing as he scrambles to shut off the light that floods the bunk area as a result. He resumes his feather-light steps down the aisle until he reaches the media center area at the rear of the bus. Michael shuts himself in and collapses on the couch, absentmindedly groping for the remote. Once he successfully locates it, he spends what feels like an eternity flipping through the channels before settling on _How It’s Made_ \- he finds the narrator’s voice to be quite soothing after a particularly bad anxiety attack. 

He spends the remaining hours of the night like that- laying on his back, chilled from the cold sweat still present on his slightly dampened t-shirt, the slight tremble of his entire being persistently continuing, half-listening to the mildly enthusiastic narrator rave about the fascinating process that goes into the production of the common paperclip. 

*** 

The next time it happens- less than thirty-six hours later- he is catching up on some desperately needed sleep in the dressing room. His zombie-like state throughout the day merited him an unquestioned leave of absence during the sound check for the concert later that night. 

He is sleeping peacefully until seemingly out of nowhere, terror takes hold of his subconscious. His face contorts in panic as small whimpers escape between the tight-lipped frown spreading across his white cheeks. He twists on the couch, writing in the grasp of an unknown threat, until he tumbles to the ground. He jolts awake on impact, his eyes locking on Ashton who stood frozen in the door frame. 

This time, however, Michael remembers the dream in terrifying detail and is helpless to stop the stream of tears pouring from his eyes. The drummer dashes towards him, enveloping the shaking form in his tight grip, comforting sentiments rapidly spilling from his lips. 

“Mikey” Ashton calls after a few moments pass. The guitarist simply sniffs in response, burying his face further into the warm embrace. “What was that all about, huh?” 

“C-calum” Michael chokes out after some time, “He g-got shot and I j-just stood there” Ashton frowns deeply as a fresh round of tears pool at the corners of Michael’s eyes. 

“Easy there, love” Ashton coos, rubbing soothing circles across the younger’s back, “Cal-Pal is alive and well. You’ve got nothing to worry your vibrant little head about” 

Ashton remains on the floor, with a lap-full of Michael, until the missing half of the band appears. Luke immediately notices the tension in the air, but Michael quickly bursts into a fit of giggles. He rolls from the drummer’s lap, and pals around with the youngest, as if nothing ever happened. He dodges the concerned glances from Ashton as Luke babbles on about a new smoothie shack he’s dying to try, and sends a loaded glare of _‘if you say a word, I’ll kill you’_. 

Ashton nearly forgets about the incident until the later that night, right before they’re due to go on stage, when Michael pulls him aside.

“Thanks Ash” Michael rubs at his neck, clearly uncomfortable, “about the whole…” He fumbles with his hands in hopes of conveying his thoughts without having to actually say the embarrassing words. 

“Anytime lad” The drummer claps him on the shoulder, “You sure you’re alright though? You were pretty wrecked back there” 

Michael’s cheeks flush slightly, but he shakes his head, “Oh yeah it’s nothing. I guess I’ve been playing to many first person-shooters lately” He laughs off the drummer’s worry. 

“Alright…” Ashton, however, is not entirely convinced by his nonchalance, “But if you ever need to talk about it, you know where to find me” Ashton rubs at the younger’s shoulder once again before walking back towards the rest of the group, who are currently engaged in a rousing rendition of a High School Musical medley. 

Michael lingers for a moment, rubbing at his suddenly painfully dry eyes. The nauseating feeling at the bottom of his stomach returns briefly, but he forces himself to get it together for the sake of the concert. _The show must go on_ , he muses miserably, _nightmares be damned._

“Mikey you coming?” Calum calls from farther down the hall. He pulls at his face in a quick attempt to sober himself up from the haunting scenarios that his mind keeps wandering to. 

“No, but your mom will be!” 

*** 

The show goes seemingly perfect, and for a moment Michael escapes the bloodied scenes that unfold behind his eyelids. The rest of the band calls for a celebration, and quickly climb into a crowded taxi still reveling in the high that engulfs them after a performance of that level. He rests his head on the cool window, falling into a state of numbness as he stares out at the neon signs flickering wildly as the cab speeds down the busy avenue of whatever city they’re in at the moment. 

A yawn escapes him suddenly, and soon the all-too familiar unsettling feeling returns within him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah woah woah guys you're all amazing. this chapter's pretty muke-centric but don't worry calum is gonna be a main figure next chapter. read on loves.

_“That’s what I like about you!”_

The crowd erupts into a frenzied hysteria as the stadium literally pulses with the guitar riffs that pour out of the enormous speaker sets. Luke, for a reason unknown to Michael, is performing with a particular enthusiasm that has not only the crowd, but the entire band, utterly captivated. Each note that flows from his pierced lips merely fuels the fire that has engulfed the sea of teenage girls; not to mention that his lead-ups to each song are effortlessly witty and flirty, a stark contrast to the _much_ shorter and incredibly awkward young blonde that Michael befriended all those years ago.

Luke smirks into the microphone as he sets the stage for their next song, each flash of that truly greater-than-life smile causing the crowd’s screams to increase tenfold. Michael’s head is pounding, and frankly he’s struggling to keep up with the background vocals for the songs he’s sang give or take six hundred times over the past months. He has a vague feeling of despair pooling at the very core of his being as he mentally reviews the set list, the ever present nightmare that is _American Idiot_ dawning on him with each song that passes. Michael is unsure of whether or not he’ll be able to stand upright for the next fifteen minutes; the mere thought of a fast paced Green Day song  loaded with guitar solos he’s never actually felt totally comfortable with is enough to make him feel sick to his already aching stomach.

It’s clear that the entire band is aware of the subpar state of its lead guitarist. Calum keeps frowning at him, a gentile _‘are you okay?’_ on the brim of his lips each time the two make eye contact. Michael is also keenly aware of a certain curly-haired drummer burning holes in the back of his already tattered t-shirt with his unyielding ‘ _I am the oldest and you are all my little nuggets whom I must protect at all costs’_ stare. The entire ordeal is making Michael feel even worse than he is actually physically feeling, if that somehow is possible. The idea that Luke is most likely destroying his abused vocal chords further just to pick up his best friend’s lack of energy is nearly too much to bare.

They’re just three songs into the seemingly endless set, and Michael feels like he’s either going to throw up, pass out, or burst into tears- probably a horrendous mixture of the three, if he’s being totally honest.

***

Somehow, by miracle, Michael makes it through the set. His guitar was nearly as sloppy as it once was back in the terrifying time known as middle school, and he’s not entirely sure he spoke even once to the crowd. Calum assures him that no one noticed his poor state of health, but his comforting smiles are lacking the warmth that normally fills Michael with a nice, gushy feeling that makes his toes curl and his heart leap in his chest.  But that’s beside the point.

Michael will no doubt learn of the true extent of his shitty performance within the night, seeing as the “fans” that seem to always blow up his timeline are so quick to attack any minor flaw he might so possess. Ashton calls it the Vicious Cycle- every six or so weeks one member of the band finds himself at the center of the entire fandom’s aggression and complaints. It just so happened that Michael’s 15 minutes of shame perfectly lined up with the total collapse of his immune system, because, you know, Michael’s lucky like that.  

He’s vaguely aware of a clammy hand interlocking with his own, slowly guiding him to what he assumes is some black SUV with blissfully tinted windows to shield his sensitive eyes from the aggressively bright light fixtures that adorn the various establishments within the city. He’s blinking rapidly, willing the exhaustion to leave him just briefly so he can manage to get into the car without having to be carried like an infant- because he’s totally not a baby. He’s just tired, and sick, and maybe he wants his mum, but mainly he just wants to sleep for give or take six days consecutive.

A warm presence that he decides must be Luke presses close behind him as they speak to the handful of fans waiting outside the venue. Luke’s smiling and reaching around Michael to sign a phone case, laughing at some witty joke one of the girls had said, all the while hovering over the exhausted guitarist. Michael closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, instantly regretting the decision as the migraine he had been working on since the set ended pounded his skull. He bit his lip, a pitiful sound that was _not_ a whimper slips from his lips, and he leans back into the sturdy warmth of the lead singer. Luke rubs circles on his arm, bidding the girls a quick goodbye and thanking them for coming out to the show. Michael doesn’t even open his eyes as he’s led to the van, barely registering the faint ‘ _feel better Michael’_ that one girl called out to him.

He shivers violently as he climbs into the back seat of the van, a jumbled string of gibberish that was meant to be ‘ _Lukey cuddle me’_ falls from his lips, and in that moment he has never been more thankful for Luke Hemming’s fluency in Cliffordese. Luke laughs softly, quietly conversing with Calum, who nodded his head in agreement to whatever Luke had told him, before climbing next to Michael, wrapping a mile-long arm securely around his waist. Michael doesn’t bother with seatbelt, rather he tucks his sweat-clad head in the nook of Luke’s neck, weakly grasping at the younger’s damp t-shirt. He’s pretty much entirely in Luke’s lap, but Michael is so comfortable he could cry, and Luke isn’t complaining.

“Sleep Mikey,” Luke says, running long fingers through his hair, “There’s gonna be traffic so we’ll be here for a while,”

Michael whines in protest, he can’t go to sleep. Well, _figuratively_ , he can’t sleep. He wants nothing more than to fall into a minor comma, and wake up with amnesia (haha) so he can forget what it feels like to feel so positively _bad_. The nightmares are growing more horrifying and severe, and Michael has made a pact with himself to sleep as little as possible-a decision that he is sure Ashton would beat his sorry ass for if he ever found out. He struggles to keep his eyes open but the temptation of Luke’s steady arm around him and the knowledge that he has literally nothing to do as their car creeps along the congested US highway is too much for the guitarist to resist.

He closes his eyes and begins to drift off to the land of the unconscious, focusing entirely on the reassuring pressure on his hip and the utterly _delicious_ sensation of Luke carding his fingers through Michael’s hair. He feels safe, and for the first time in days, not like he has just been hit by a freight train. He falls into a deep sleep with a blissed out smile across his face as Ashton hums along to whatever song is softly playing on the radio.

Naturally, it all goes to shit within fifteen minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, reblog, comment, bookmark, or whatever. literally it means so much you have no idea. i'm on tumblr at badpunsandburnieburns.tumblr.com if you wanna cry about muke together sometime lolol


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit you guys are fantastic. seriously i've never had so many people read my writing before, and to have so many kudos and bookmarks and comments... it's just wow! sorry for the delay but what with the entire hell of march i have been so 1D af that it has been impossible to get into the 5sos groove. lol.

He’s running, heart thumping in his chest as he struggles to force the oxygen into his wheezing lungs. The hallway is dingy and freezing with tacky, moldy tiles lining the slick floor his feet are flying across. The wallpaper is stained and ripped in most places, revealing spider webs and strangely enough thousands upon thousands of blinking eyes, staring him down as he races through the halls of wherever the hell he is. He’s vaguely aware that someone is behind him, slowly trailing him from a distance, waiting like a vulture flying overhead to pounce on the guitarist once he runs out of energy.

Michael turns the corner with such force that he slams into the left hand wall sending pain shooting through his shoulder as he stumbles back into his more or less steady pace that he clearly won’t be able to keep up for much longer. The eyes lining the wall stare at him with such an intensity that he feels that he’s burning alive, sweating dripping down his forehead as the lights above begin to flicker spastically. He sees an elevator in the far distance at the end of the hall, and he wills his battered legs to carry him farther, faster down the hall to what he prays will be his salvation. He feels as though he’s melting alive as the metallic elevator doors slide open wide, revealing nothing but a desolate, black void. Michael’s traveling too fast to stop, and falls, ears ringing as some wild, animalistic laughter assaults his ears.

He’s falling, and falling, and falling, throat burning as he screams, plummeting down for what seems like all of eternity. A feral scream erupts from his lips, echoing through the metallic confinements of his untimely doom.

***

“ _Michael!”_

He jolts awake, chest locking up as the stale oxygen blowing from the air conditioner assaults his lungs. It takes him a few seconds of heaving and wheezing to comprehend that everything is _fine_ and that he’s still in the van. His stomach is lurching but as he turns his head, locking eyes with a _very_ concerned blonde vocalist, Michael decides not to think too long about contents of his stomach and its fierce determination to force its way out of his battered body.

“Everything alright there, Mikey?” Luke asks after what seems like a century, his eyes blown wide and unblinking. Michael pales at the thought of him thrashing around screaming in his sleep while his bandmates looked on in horror, but he notices that Calum and Ashton are still engaged in a highly controversial argument about whether or not McDonald’s actually uses meat. Calum launches into a particularly heated speech about how McNuggets are nothing more than deep fried toothpaste, and the visual does _wonders_ for Michael’s aggressive nausea.

“Mikey” Luke calls again, successfully capturing the distracted guitarist’s attention.

“Yeah?” Michael brings his palm to his left eye, groaning at the vicious headache pounding on his head like Ashton does to his drums.

“I said is everything alright? You were like, I don’t know, shaking in your sleep” Luke moves his arm back around his sleepy friend’s waist, pulling him in close.

“Nightmare” Luke frowns at Michael’s terse reply for two reasons. The first is the mere thought of his best friend dreaming of anything other than kittens and pizza. The second is the fact that Michael must be positively _exhausted_ if he has totally forgone his usual masculine bravado, and instead has opted for genuine vulnerability.

“Another?” Ashton enters the conversation suddenly, cutting Calum off mid-rant.

“Yeah, I’ve had a few of them this week” Michael mumbles into the curve of Luke’s neck, closing his eyes and reveling in the circles Luke was drawing on his back.

“It’s probably all of them bloody video games you keep playing, Mikey” Calum offers. Michael doesn’t reply, instead he just nods his head into the crook of Luke’s neck.

“Lad, when was the last time you had a proper night’s sleep?” Ashton, ever the mother hen, questions, ducking under the seatbelt as he twists in his seat to get a proper look at the mess of limbs in the back seat.

“I dunno” Mikey whines miserably, and Luke waves Ash off, not wanting the ailing guitarist’s headache to worsen. Ashton and Luke spend a few seconds in an intense bout of telepathic communication, and silently come to the conclusion that an all-night 5sos cuddle session is in order. The group falls into an uneasy silence with Michael half-dozing on Luke’s shoulder, while Ashton turns to check on Michael every minute or so. Calum is content to listen to his headphones, but Luke catches him frowning towards the guitarist after a particularly rough speed bump caused Michael to release an utterly _pathetic_ whimper. The tension in the van is thick what with the band’s go-to comic relief nearly in tears every time the driver hits the break just a little too hard, and Luke can tell that Ashton’s patience is wearing thin.

Just when Luke was convinced Ashton was going to literally hulk out of his seat and forcefully smother Michael in medicine and kisses, Luke’s phone vibrated, attracting the attention of both Calum and Ashton.

Luke quickly toned down the brightness of the phone so not to disturb the already uncomfortable kitten currently in his lap, and smiled as the familiar Brit’s name lit up the screen.

_New Message from Harry:_  
hows your boy doing? he seemed a little off tonight xx

Luke glanced at the slumbering form below him, and ran his fingers through his red locks in what, he hoped, was a comforting gesture. Luke never knew where the line with Michael and physical contact existed. The guitarist was a cuddler-that much was obvious. However, he only ever cuddled with a very, very, very, very, very small number of people. He and Mikey could longue out on the couch at the back of the tour bus for what seemed like hours without Michael ever displaying an ounce of discomfort. But there were the days that came so quickly it gave Luke whiplash where Michael would grumble and struggle out of Luke’s arms the moment they wrapped around his waist. It was a rare occurrence, but Michael would curse so viciously at him that Luke was perpetually nervous when snuggling up to his older friend.

Michael let out what seemed to be a content sigh, easing Luke’s worry, as he rubbed circles on Michael’s scalp, struggling to reply to Harry with just his left hand.

_Message to Harry:  
_ he’s been better but dont worry your curly lil head too much haha

“Luke,” Calum whispered.

“Yeah?” Luke closed his phone, sliding it back into his impossibly tight pocket while turning to face the bassist.

“We have a problem,” Calum frowned, looking out at the window. Luke followed his gaze, and a sense of dread pooled at the bottom of his stomach as the driver pulled into the parking lot of the hotel they were staying out. The place was a mad house with screaming girls and overly energetic paparazzi flooding the place. Luke was briefly confused, ‘ _we didn’t cause all of this now… what gives?’_ , but as he locked eyes on what he assumed to be Zayn Malik being escorted into the lobby, he understood.

Normally 5sos got to the hotels roughly an hour or so before One Direction did, a security protocol that allowed the bodyguards to remain focused on the _real_ prize, and not be distracted by the opening act. The traffic must have allowed 1D to catch up with their ride, and now the entire hotel was in a goddamn frenzy.

As the van coasted closer to the lobby, the conscious members of 5 Seconds of Summer realized the weight of the situation that faced them outside of the reinforced doors of their trusted SUV. The pregnant silence of the van was shattered by Ashton, who finally voiced the concern on the tip of the youngers’ tongues.

“How the fuck are we gonna get him inside?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised cuddles and next chapter y'all shall receive.  
> check me out at my NEW tumblr: mixhaelclifford.tumblr.com and come talk to me <3 thanks so much everyone

**Author's Note:**

> so lemme know what you think. i'm feeling four or five chapters out of this baby. more tears to come lol. follow me on tumblr at badpunsandburnieburns.tumblr.com yay


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